


Dark Wilson Drabbles

by dreamsofspike



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 75
Words: 16,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike





	1. #1 - Beginning

The beginning of the end starts with three words.

 

Wilson’s always cared about House’s feelings, although House pretends not to have any. Wilson chooses his words, his actions, to prevent any further damage to his friend’s already injured psyche.

 

But House refuses to apologize or back down, even when it might cost him everything – might cost _Wilson_ everything.

 

Wilson stares at him…and the look becomes hard, disgusted.

 

“God, you’re pathetic.”

 

And Wilson walks away, without a second glance at House.

 

And the words hurt – because Wilson means them.

 

And they hurt even worse – because Wilson doesn’t care that they hurt.


	2. #2 - Cigarett Burns

When he walks into House’s apartment to see him grinning at him around his cigarette, so pleased with his narrow escape, Wilson seethes with resentful anger. It’s just another reminder of House’s deception.

 

None of it was real.

 

The rehab, the apology – all lies.

 

House gives him an odd look as Wilson starts purposefully toward him, and Wilson remembers seeing him across the rehab lounge, how stunned he was to see House smoking…how he let it go without comment, because House deserved a little leeway for trying _so hard_ …

 

 _He wasn’t trying at all… it was all an act._

 _And the cigarette – the cigarette was a secret joke for House alone to get – a subtle slap in the face while he spouted meaningless words…just to screw with me._

 

House raises his eyebrows, speculative, mockingly lifting the cigarette to his lips again as Wilson closes the distance between them. He isn’t expecting it, isn’t prepared when Wilson plucks the cigarette from between his fingers with one hand, the other snatching his right wrist off his cane and jerking him forward, off balance.

 

House leans backward against the wall, readjusting to stay on his feet, defiant eyes laughing at Wilson, daring him to give vent to the fury on his face.

 

The last thing he expects is for Wilson to crush the lit tip of the cigarette against his palm. Wilson ignores his yelp of protest and pain, forcing his hand shut around the smoldering embers, holding it shut and allowing the burn to linger.

 

“Smoking in front of an oncologist, House,” Wilson murmurs with a cool smile. “Now that’s just insulting.”

 

House struggles to pull his fist away, a guttural groan escaping his lips, but Wilson doesn’t yield, and his smile doesn’t change.

 

“Don’t you know those things can kill you?”


	3. #3 - Silence

Against House, Wilson finds that silence is a far more effective weapon than words.

 

He has yelled, berated, lectured, hands flailing wildly and right up in House’s face – and the older man just laughs it off. He expects Wilson to get frustrated, angry even – expects him to lose his temper and tell him how badly he’s screwed things up this time.

 

And then, he expects him to get over it and buy his lunch and hang out in his office as always.

 

He doesn’t expect to be ignored.

 

“Pizza tonight?”

 

Wilson doesn’t look up, just keeps writing.

 

“I _said…Pizza? Tonight?_ ” Each word is slow and exaggerated, as if Wilson might be deaf.

 

Wilson still says nothing.

 

Irritated, House slams the door and walks away.

 

When he stops by later to rant about Cuddy’s latest veto decision, he reaches the end of the rant before realizing that Wilson isn’t rationalizing, or justifying her decision, or lecturing him on why she’s right.

 

Wilson’s just… ignoring him.

 

Again.

 

“I get it.” House points a knowing finger. “The silent treatment’s not gonna work on me, Jimmy. You’re gonna have to get over it and stop pouting like a little girl, because I’m not going to apologize.”

 

Except that Jimmy doesn’t stop, the silent treatment continues – and at the end of the day as he’s about to walk out the door of his office, he is stopped by a penitent House, looking at him through anxious, uncertain pools of glittering blue.

 

“Okay,” he mutters, looking down, feet shuffling against the tile like a little boy kicking the dirt. “I’m sorry, okay? Will you stop acting like an idiot now?”

 

A single raised eyebrow, a brief moment of dubious eye contact – the first contact he’s given House all day, and it’s not the least bit reassuring.

 

“I’m _sorry_ ,” House repeats, his tone less sullen, more pleading.

 

When Wilson touches his shoulder, House looks up, biting the inside of his lip, unaware that the desperation he feels shows so clearly in his eyes. Wilson smiles at him, dark eyes filling with warmth again.

 

“I’ll buy the pizza.”


	4. #4 - Drowning

Wilson’s stomach drops as he rushes across the room to House’s side.

 

Relief… he’s breathing… conscious. Hopefully, most of the ingested poison is lying on the floor beside him. Wilson picks up the empty pill bottle – sees the betrayal his friend has committed.

 

He feels sick.

 

He can’t stay.

 

If House is sick again, he could drown. Wilson knows he shouldn’t leave him.

 

But he’s just so tired, so freaking _tired_ of dragging House, flailing, sputtering, barely breathing, out of the water, only to have him leap in head-long again.

 

 _Go ahead, House…_ He stares down in disgusted disappointment, and the bottle falls from his hand. Drown, then. _I’m tired of trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved…_

 

Defeated, Wilson walks away.


	5. #5 - Expectations

He knew the words crossed a line – and he expected there to be repercussions.

 

He expected Wilson to turn and coldly walk away, too furious to trust himself to speak.

 

He expected perhaps a scathing retort, vicious words designed to hurt House like House’s words had hurt.

 

He did not expect Wilson to snatch the cane from his hand in a blind rage, slam it into his stomach, again and again. The last thing he expected was for Wilson to bring it down hard into the fragile spot on his right thigh, simultaneously covering House’s mouth with his hand to suppress the expected cry of agony.

 

Wilson moves in close – menacing, purposeful – and House flinches as a hard hand fists his hair, pulling him closer. Blinded by pain, House can’t see him, can only feel the words as a harsh, echoing whisper in his ear, just before Wilson roughly releases him.

 

 _“If you ever mention him again, I’ll kill you.”_

 

And Wilson stalks away, leaving House to his deserved suffering, his own ill-fated words echoing in his ears.

 

 _“If you lectured_ him _this much, no wonder your brother wanted to disappear…”_

 

After those words, what had he expected, after all?


	6. #6 - Flames

All House can do is watch the flames.

 

Flames of flickering orange and red and chocolate brown dance in Wilson’s dark, glittering eyes as he stares into the fire, idly stirring the glowing embers with the heavy iron poker in his hand.

 

All House can do is watch, because he’s chained to the bed by the fire, unable to rise.

 

Wilson smiles at him, and there’s something both reassuring, and terribly frightening, in the familiarity of that warm, knowing smile.

 

All House can do is watch, because he can’t speak – not around the gag Wilson’s fastened into his mouth.

 

He had no idea what Wilson intended when he arranged for this quiet weekend in the Poconos – just the two of them. He supposes it’s his own fault, for giving him the idea – but this is not exactly the sort of scene he expected Wilson to set up.

 

Wilson withdraws the poker from the flame, holding up the glowing red tip before his eyes, then turning those dark, fathomless eyes, burning with lust and anger and a thousand indiscernible emotions, toward House again in a chilling expression of darkly suggestive intent.

 

All House can do is watch…watch, as the flames burn.


	7. #7 - Refusal

“No.”

 

“Come on. You know you want it as much as I do…”

 

That low voice, soft and smooth and tempting as melted chocolate in his ear, entices him. The image he can’t erase, of that same mouth – smiling, whispering teasing words in Amber’s ear, outside the cafeteria that morning – seals his refusal.

 

“Not your dirty little secret, Jimmy…” House mutters, the words breaking off in a gasp, his body responding in treacherous pleasure.

 

“Don’t be silly, House.” Warm, dark eyes, so deceptively innocent, meet his before Wilson pushes him into the closet, pulling the door behind them and shutting out the light. “Of course you are.”

 

House wants to deny it… knows it wouldn’t matter. His protests, his refusals, his insistence on dignity and respect – none of them matter.

 

Wilson bites down on his ear, a little less than gently, and hisses cruelly teasing demands for agreement.

 

“ _Aren’t you_?”

 

House feels a little sick inside, but surrenders, murmuring a strangled, distracted, “Yes… _God_ , yes…”

 

Because it’s true. In the dark or in the light, willingly or by force, he’s Wilson’s, body and soul.

 

And because he has a feeling that tonight – Wilson wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway.


	8. #8 - Disaster

It’s all fallen apart.

 

Again.

 

He kept the pretty mask in place as long as he could…until, finally, it slipped. Eventually, it always grows too heavy and cumbersome, and eventually, he always lets it slip.

 

That’s when they decide that the real James Wilson, the man behind the pretty mask, is not what they signed on for.

 

That’s when they leave.

 

It’s a disaster he can’t escape – tragic history repeating itself again and again.

 

In the storm’s wake, there’s only one person he can go to – one person who can remind him that there are worse disasters than his own.


	9. #9 - Obsession

He has to leave, to escape House’s destructive influence in his life.

 

He refuses to speak to him, look at him, before he goes, to avoid giving him the chance to talk him out of going.

 

He’s two weeks settled into his new position when it starts to affect his job performance.

 

He checks PPTH’s website for articles referencing him – watches Princeton area newspapers for signs of his latest scandal. He sends casual emails to his fellows, random phone calls to Cuddy, hoping for a spare word to hint at how he’s doing.

 

Recovering? Functioning? _Alive_?

 

He doesn’t allow himself to ask – but he has to _know_.

 

Despite his intentions to leave PPTH and never think of House again, once he’s left, Wilson finds that he can think of little else.

 

One thousand miles away, and Wilson’s obsession makes House’s influence in his life more destructive than it ever was.


	10. #10 - Crash

It was a crash that ruined everything.

 

In a single moment, Wilson’s entire world, everything that mattered to him, destroyed.

 

He tells himself that it wasn’t House’s fault. House couldn’t have known that Amber would answer his call – couldn’t have known that she would follow him onto that bus – couldn’t have known that the bus would crash.

 

He plays the supportive friend throughout House’s recovery, doing what he can to help, showing what he thinks is an appropriate level of concern – because he knows that’s what he _should_ do, what he _should_ feel.

 

The first time House rides his motorcycle to work again, after weeks of physical and occupational therapy, it is a cause for congratulation. Wilson is all smiles and encouragement, as he nods farewell in response to House’s tentative smile. The older man is clearly seeking his approval, and on the surface, Wilson grants it – because he knows it’s what he’s supposed to do.

 

And as House’s motorcycle pulls away from the curb and into the traffic – secretly, Wilson wishes for another crash.


	11. #11 - Holding On

“What do you think she _really_ wants?”

 

House turns to look down at Wilson, lounging idly on his sofa. “This hot, sexy bod, of course. What else?” There’s a smirk on House’s lips, but Wilson can see the insecurity behind his eyes.

 

“Well, I don’t know. It just seems like… Do you really think you’re… her type?”

 

“How should I know what her _type_ is?” House turns away toward the refrigerator, examining the carefully chosen corsage again.

 

“But… you _do_ know what her type is,” Wilson responds at last, slowly, thoughtfully, as if the realization is only just dawning on him. He waits until House meets his eyes to finish, “Damaged.”

 

House stares at him for a long moment, and Wilson can see the disappointment seeping into his expression, replacing the cautious interest that was there only moments before. He knows that House is disappointed, not because he holds any interest in Cameron, specifically. He’s disappointed because the idea of being wanted, by a woman so attractive, so much younger, was infinitely flattering, encouraging.

 

Wilson doesn’t want House flattered – doesn’t want him encouraged.

 

Wilson wants House aware that in the end – there is no one for him – no one but Wilson.

 

Wilson knows that in the end, he’ll always be alone. There’ll be another Mrs. Wilson, but she’ll probably leave in the end, too. As constants go in his life, there’s only House – and he needs to make sure that he’s the only constant in House’s life as well.

 

It may be cruel, may be all kinds of wrong – but Wilson doesn’t feel guilty.

 

All he’s doing is holding on for dear life to the only thing he has left.


	12. #12 - Instant

House is barely in the door before Wilson’s all over him, clearly in the most amorous of moods. Wilson pushes him against the wall beside the door, sliding his coat off his shoulders, his lips smiling against House’s mouth, leaving it only long enough to mutter,

 

“So how was it?”

 

House smirks back at him, meeting his eyes in a challenge. “Good. It was fun.”

 

Wilson raises a brow as he tosses coat and scarf onto the sofa and starts to work on House’s shirt with frantic, trembling fingers. “‘Fun’?” he echoes. “How was she ‘fun’?”

 

He’s still smiling, so House thinks he’s still okay. “You know,” he shrugs, kissing Wilson again, reversing their positions before pulling away to continue in a sly, teasing voice, “She’s quite the little hottie. Beautiful, in fact. But…”

 

Before he can continue, in an instant, everything changes.

 

Wilson reverses their positions again, slamming House into the wall with brutal force. Stunned, House opens his mouth to protest, but Wilson’s fist tangled in his hair slams his head back – dizzying, painful.

 

“Beautiful, is she?” he snarls, dark eyes blazing with jealous fury. “What did you do with her? Did you kiss her? Is she a good kisser, House? Did you sleep with her? Did you sleep with her like a freakin’ slut?”

 

House shakes his head, lips parted, desperately seeking a chance to explain himself – but Wilson won’t stop. Wilson’s fist slams into House’s bad leg, driving the air from his lungs and the explanation from his lips.

 

“She’s beautiful, but what, House?” he demands. “What else were you gonna say about the stunning, amazing Dr. Cameron? She’s beautiful, _but_ …?”

 

“But she’s _not you_!” House grinds out the words – trembling, angry, reproachful… hurt. “She’s not you, you – you _bastard_!”

 

Again, everything changes in an instant, as Wilson backs off, stunned to silence.

 

Jealous fury shifts to contrition.

 

As House goes down to the floor, curling protectively over his injured leg, Wilson goes down beside him, remorseful tears already streaking his face.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, House… I’m so sorry…”

 

House has heard it all before, knows better than to trust it. He knows that it will happen again, despite Wilson’s promises that it won’t. Wilson’s moods are like the wind, instantly shifting without warning.

 

Wilson’s crying now, his face resting on House’s knees, clasping the older man’s hands in his own, sobbing out pleas for forgiveness, begging him please, _please, don’t go…_

 

House knows he won’t ever leave.

 

He knows that for the chance to love and be loved by Wilson, he’ll ride the constant storm of Wilson’s moods. There’s nothing Wilson can dish out that he can’t bear – for an instant.


	13. #13 - Wax

They sit on the sofa.

 

House watches the television – only pretending to pay attention.

 

Wilson doesn’t bother to pretend.

 

He holds a candle in his hand, slowly turning it, watching as the tiny flame melts areas of the wax it couldn’t otherwise reach, deftly tilting the jar to catch a pool of molten wax in the corner where the candle meets the glass.

 

“So… how many times did a staff member of yours cry today?”

 

House considers the question, exaggerating his answer. “Twice.”

 

“And… how many times would you say you tormented Cuddy?”

 

This answer needs no exaggeration. “Seven.”

 

“Illegal medical procedures performed?”

 

House looks skyward, mouth quirking sideways as he counts. “Two.”

 

“And… you got away with all of it?”

 

House’s mouth goes dry at the dark softness of Wilson’s voice, his chocolate eyes focused intently on the jar in his hands as the wax melts, the pool growing larger. House can’t find words to speak, so he just nods, giving Wilson what he hopes passes for a smirk.

 

Wilson shakes his head once as he meets House’s eyes.

 

“No, you didn’t,” he corrects, nodding toward House’s bedroom, his voice hardening, though there’s laughter in his eyes. “Get in there. Clothes off. Facedown.”

 

House shouldn’t be eager to comply – but he is. His hand trembles on the handle of his cane as he passes Wilson, who hasn’t yet bothered to get up.

 

Wilson finally follows, his pace unhurried, behind him, still slowly swirling the melting candle in his hand.


	14. #14 - Confession

“You know that new nurse in emergency?”

 

Wilson’s voice is casual, one arm wrapped gently around House’s bare shoulders, House’s face resting against his chest. As he speaks, Wilson idly runs his fingers through House’s hair, damp and disheveled from their coupling.

 

A mere grunt is House’s response. He’s not really interested.

 

He’s about to be.

 

“She came onto me this afternoon.”

 

Wilson feels House’s smile against his skin – feels the trust there, trust he’s spent the last few years building – only to shatter in this moment.

 

“Did you tell her you’re taken?” House responds, the words light and unconcerned, muffled against Wilson’s chest.

 

Wilson is quiet for a moment. “I slept with her.”

 

House laughs, not believing it to be more than a joke…and to Wilson, the sound is like shattering glass. When the older man raises mirthful eyes to meet Wilson’s solemn, dark gaze – everything freezes. Wilson waits – waits for House to hit him, to scream at him, to get up and walk out and leave him for good.

 

House does none of those things.

 

After a moment, House whispers a response – and the fear and hurt and need mingled in those words is an ironic relief to Wilson, because he knows it means that in spite of his offense, in spite of House’s hurt and the trust Wilson has broken – he’s not going to be left alone.

 

“Are you… going to do it again?”

 

Wilson knows that he will. He knows he can’t change, not even for House, whom he loves more than he loved any of his wives. He’s an unfaithful bastard, in the same way that he’s a brunette oncologist. It’s a state both natural and achieved, but not a state that can be undone at this point in his life.

 

And yet… House is the one afraid of being left behind.

 

“No, of course not,” Wilson whispers, leaning down to kiss House in tender reassurance.

 

He knows this isn’t over, knows they’ll have it out, and probably in the next few minutes.

 

He also knows, no matter what he does… he’ll never be alone.


	15. #15 - Memory

Any other day, House wouldn’t bother to knock.

 

Today, he does, and waits for the cool, professional, “Come in,” before opening the door.

 

Wilson glances up at him, and in the brief instant before he realizes who it is that’s in his doorway, House catches a glimpse of the Wilson he knew before all this – before Amber. For a moment, he thinks he’ll see that slight softening in those dark eyes, that trace of humor and pleasure that Wilson used to feel when he saw House at his door.

 

But that’s just a memory, not the reality of this agonizing moment.

 

A single glance, and House is returned to the brutal present.

 

Wilson’s eyes are hard as he snaps, “What are you doing here, House?”


	16. #16 - Thunder

“Is she better than me?”

 

Wilson’s voice is a low, dangerous growl, the vibrations like rumbling thunder against House’s throat as they’re followed with kisses, trailing downward.

 

House’s hands strain against the ties that hold them to the headboard, only succeeding in tightening them further. Another is bound around his eyes, so he jumps, startled, when Wilson’s voice is suddenly in his ear again.

 

“Who’s your favorite? Me or her?” Wilson demands, talented hands trailing over House’s body as he writhes beneath the younger man’s touch.

 

And there’s only one answer he can give.

 

“You, Jimmy… Of course it’s you…”


	17. #17 - Glasses

For once, House is actually trying to study, a pensive frown on his face, reading glasses in place as he pores over a medical journal he hasn’t looked at in years.

 

Wilson is having none of it.

 

He reaches for the journal, but House pulls it out of his reach, his deepening frown the only indication that he’s even noticing Wilson’s attempts to distract him. Wilson kneels on the couch beside him, one hand sliding around the side of his neck and drawing him closer as he kisses House’s throat.

 

“Not now,” House growls at last in irritation, batting Wilson away with one hand. “’M busy.” He places the journal on the coffee table, leaning forward, pulling out of Wilson’s reach.

 

Wilson rocks back on his knees for a moment, mild exasperation on his face. Then, without warning, he reaches out and snatches the glasses off House’s face. House turns toward him, reaching for them, but Wilson twists the fragile metal frames in his hand, turning out of House’s reach and dropping the glasses to the floor, before dropping his foot after them and crushing the glass beneath the sole of his shoe.

 

House stares in silence at the mess on the floor for a long moment before looking up at Wilson in outrage.

 

“I _need_ those, you moron!”

 

Wilson grabs the journal off the table and tosses it across the room before lunging forward, grasping House’s wrists and pinning them against the back of the couch as he pushes him backward and captures his mouth in an insistent, searching kiss. He pulls back, a little breathless, as he responds cheekily.

 

“Not tonight, you don’t.”


	18. #18 - Hopeless

When Wilson touches him…House feels sick.

 

He can feel that glow he gets – that glow that should be only for House. He can still smell her perfume on him, before he even turns around. He knows Wilson’s been unfaithful, even if Wilson will never know that he knows.

 

House hasn’t quite decided yet.

 

They’re alone on the roof, and it’s quiet and peaceful – a beautiful night.

 

A night for romance.

 

Wilson’s already had more than his share – yet he comes here, claiming what he knows is already his.

 

After the initial kiss – which tastes faintly of fruit-flavored lip gloss – Wilson draws back, giving House a warm, tender smile that should be only for him.

 

But it isn’t.

 

“No one will ever love you like I love you,” he whispers.

 

He means it quite differently than House hears it. House hears it for the painful truth it really is – and suddenly he knows that he won’t mention the taste, the scent, the remnants of the _other_ he can still see all over Wilson’s face.

 

For Wilson, there’ll be anyone he wants.

 

For House, there will never be anyone but Wilson.

 

Hopelessly lost, House surrenders to the next kiss without a word.


	19. #19 - Mirror

Sometimes he can’t stand to look at him – can’t stand to see how alike they really are.

 

Wilson tells House he shouldn’t be so manipulative, shouldn’t play his staff, Cuddy, his patients, like he does.

 

The only one Wilson manipulates is House.

 

Wilson endlessly lectures, trying to make House see how miserable he is, and how it doesn’t have to be that way.

 

But Wilson isn’t happy.

 

House’s addiction is slowly killing him, and Wilson warns him almost daily.

 

Wilson’s only addiction is House.

 

Still… looking at House is like staring into a mirror, and sometimes… Wilson can’t stand it.


	20. #20 - Sway

Wilson knows he’s the only one who holds any sway over anything House does.

 

He’d never express such an arrogant idea to Cuddy, or his staff, or anyone else at PPTH – never say out loud that he has any control over the uncontrollable force of nature that is Dr. Gregory House. And he’d never, never say such a thing to House himself. That would be a sure-fire way to immediately lose all such control over House. If he knew, House couldn’t tolerate it.

 

No, Wilson likes his secret position of power too much to let it slip away so easily.


	21. #21 - At the End

House is at the end of his rope. He’s broken out in a cold sweat, eyes red and welling with desperate, frustrated tears. If he could go down on his knees, and get up again, Wilson is quite sure that he would.

 

“I’m in _pain_ , Wilson. Just write me the script. _Please_.”

 

“Cuddy won’t. Your team won’t. And now you think _I’m_ going to enable you? After… _everything_?”

 

“I think you can’t stand to see me in this much pain, knowing you’re the one who caused it.”

 

Wilson stares at him, anger and resentment seething behind his eyes. They’re in the hall outside his office… no one else around… no one to suspect…

 

A dark idea occurs to him – no idea where it comes from – but it’s there now, and it’s strangely appealing. House is at the point of begging, desperation – willing to do anything.

 

How could Wilson not take advantage of that?

 

He leads House into his office with a firm hand on his arm, then leans against his desk, arms across his chest, speculative. House waits, watching him anxiously, unsure of the game, of himself, of anything besides his own pain and desperate need.

 

“You want the pills?”

 

House gives him a disbelieving look – no words necessary.

 

Wilson’s smile fades. “On your knees.”

 

House’s jaw drops, eyes wide as he looks over the younger man’s casually authoritative stance, one hand resting idly over the front of his pants. There’s lust in Wilson’s eyes – lust for House, but also lust for power, vindication.

 

House knows that if he goes to his knees, he won’t get up the same.

 

“If I do this… you’ll write the script?”

 

Wilson nods in calm, expectant silence.

 

There’s only a moment’s hesitation before House falls to his knees.

 

It’s over in a minute; before this moment, House had no idea how much Wilson craved his submission. He doesn’t move, head bowed, eyes averted as Wilson leans over him, one hand cupping the back of his head, moving gently through his hair.

 

“Your addiction’s not a problem?” he asks in a voice of soft, sad irony. “The pills don’t rule your life? Look what they’ve turned you into.” He pauses a moment before adding, “Take the deal, House. Go to rehab.”

 

Wilson walks away, without writing the promised script – leaving House there on his knees, hanging on to the frayed edges of his shattered hope.


	22. #22 - Confusion

He awakens to an overwhelming feeling of confusion.

 

He can’t remember how he got here – can’t remember where “here” is. Doesn’t know why he can’t move his hands or feet, or speak… or see anything at all. He struggles to open his eyes, but it’s no good. He tries to say something, to see if he’s alone or not… but the best he can do is a muffled moan.

 

It’s enough to gain response, to show he’s not alone – wherever he is. Confusion fades into clarity at the soft voice that whispers into his ear, warm breath sending a shiver down his spine…

 

“I was beginning to think you’d sleep the day away…”

 

…and he remembers.

 

 _A tiny pinprick of pain, the world swirling away into darkness, as strong arms catch him from behind…_

 

His captor’s next words send a delicious shiver down his spine.

 

“So, House… ready to play?”


	23. #23 - Tremble

Every muscle is rigid, waiting for the inevitable touch of his hand.

 

He’s been ordered not to turn around, or look – so he doesn’t.

 

Warm, soft fingers trail across the back of his neck, under his loosened collar, sliding down and around to touch his chest, before slipping back upward to lock firmly around his throat, pulling his head back, just barely restricting his breathing.

 

“You’ve had this coming a long time,” a soft voice, enticing and menacing in the same breath, whispers against his ear.

 

His breath catches in his throat, and he waits, breathless and trembling with anticipation.


	24. #24 - Blank Stare

Convincing Cuddy was easy.

 

Who better to care for the one-time genius, now near-vegetable that was Gregory House, than his best friend?

 

Amber was gone; Wilson’s need to be needed would be well-served by House’s need for care.

 

It made sense.

 

She didn’t know that House had already recovered much of his mentality – or would have, had Wilson allowed it. Near-constant intravenous drugs kept him sedated, pliable – until Wilson wanted him otherwise.

 

The moment when that blank stare became knowing, aware – of what he’d done, and what was being done to him – was the sweetest moment of Wilson’s every day.


	25. #25 - Trapped

“She’s such a brave girl. I want to see how brave she is when you tell her she’s going to die.”

 

The words are barely out of House’s mouth when they’re replaced by Wilson’s fist. The blow sends him staggering backward into the wall; he tastes blood, flashes of color obscuring his vision. When he can see again, Wilson is startlingly close, a cold, furious smile on his face, House’s dropped and forgotten cane clutched in white-knuckled hands.

 

“Wanna repeat that for me, House?” Wilson’s voice is soft, cold as his dark, narrowed eyes.

 

Trapped between Wilson and the wall, House knows that he’s crossed the line, and for the first time in as long as he’s known him, he’s actually afraid of his friend.


	26. #26 - Ice

House loves their games – loves surrendering control to Wilson, though he’d never admit it outside these four walls. He’s bound, blindfolded, allowed only his voice in defense against the younger, stronger man, who mercilessly plays his body like a finely tuned instrument, striking chords of mingled pleasure and pain.

 

Every touch a new thrill, each sensation magnified by the absence of sight.

 

“Let’s try something new,” Wilson whispers.

 

House shivers as something cold and wet trails along the line of his hip. He wriggles away from it and toward it at once, enjoying the new sensation.

 

At first.

 

Sensory memory overcomes reality, and House’s blinded eyes are filled with nightmare images from his past. It’s too cold, too terrifying, too much…

 

“Stop,” he gasps. “No…stop…”

 

“Shhh,” Wilson soothes him.

 

House can’t see the secret smile on Wilson’s face, has no idea that this game was chosen with House’s halting, shame-filled midnight confessions in mind. Wilson enjoys the thrill of power as House struggles uselessly to escape the ice trailing over his overheated, trembling flesh. His heart races under Wilson’s hand on his chest, and Wilson’s pulse quickens as well.

 

“Please,” House whimpers. “Please, stop…”

 

Wilson has no intention of stopping.


	27. #27 - Flirtation

It’s just a casual brush against his arm, a smile that’s slightly warmer than usual. Still, he knows she’s attracted to him – always has been – and he can’t deny that he feels some of it, too. It’s nice to have someone look at him like that again – like he’s funny, interesting, worthy of a little bit of extra attention.

 

Wilson’s eyes are always cold these days. When House feels his gaze, turns to meet his eyes from across the room, they’re colder than ever.

 

House’s stomach drops. He recognizes the danger in those dark eyes, sees the jealous rage in Wilson’s taut carriage, in the tightly clenched fists at his sides.

 

He knows there’ll be a high price to pay later for this innocent flirtation.


	28. #28 - Innocent

“It didn’t mean anything!” he insists, breathless, his back aching from slamming into the wall of Wilson’s office. “We were just talking! It was completely innocent.”

 

A vicious slap across his face drives his head back into the wall, dizzying him, and he grimaces at the knowledge that he’ll have to explain the bruises tomorrow.

 

It hardly matters; Cuddy already suspects.

 

“Liar!” Wilson hisses, grabbing his throat, choking him as he presses him back against the wall, his face inches from House’s. “Lying. _Slut_.”

 

House knows better than to argue. It will do no good. Wilson’s already sure he’s guilty.


	29. #29 - Jealousy

By the time she follows her instincts to Wilson’s office, it’s all over.

 

It’s too late.

 

Tears stream down Cuddy’s face as she kneels beside him, feeling for a pulse she already knows she won’t find. She’s worked here long enough to recognize death when she sees it. He’s so fragile, defenseless, lying there broken and alone.

 

Wilson fled, no doubt, when he realized what he’d done – that this time, he’d finally gone too far.

 

She’d seen the evidence of his jealousy – knew he couldn’t stand to see House with anyone else, even if he was only “with” them in Wilson’s imagination.

 

 _It’s my fault… for touching him… for not doing anything when I_ knew _what was happening… He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me…_

 

Her tears streak his still face as her body bows over him, going through the motions, trying to save him – trying too late.


	30. #30 - Forgotten

Wilson says he’s forgiven – but things are not the same.

 

He acts the part of a friend, all smiles, jokes and easy camaraderie on the outside – but it’s the little things that remind him everything has changed.

 

A glance in his direction when her name is mentioned – a barely perceptible coolness behind eyes of warm chocolate – a look of irritation where before, there might have been amusement.

 

It’s all too clear that things between them have changed, so much, for the worse.

 

House may have been forgiven, but Wilson makes it constantly clear – what he’s done will never be forgotten.


	31. #31 - Photograph

“Don’t go.”

 

He doesn’t expect it to do any good, but he asks one more time, anyway.

 

Wilson gives him a cold, disbelieving smile, shaking his head in wonder at House’s nerve to even ask, as he continues emptying the last drawer of his desk into a box.

 

“I’m sorry, but not as sorry as you’ll be later when you realize what a mistake you’ve made.”

 

“Oh,” Wilson speaks at last, his voice painfully casual as he opens the bottom drawer of his desk. “That reminds me.”

 

He picks up his box under one arm, dropping the item he took from the drawer at House’s feet as he stops in the doorway. The shattering sound it makes is loud in the stillness of the room, but Wilson’s nearly whispered words are louder, reverberating in House’s head with the pounding of his pulse as he stares numbly down at the mess on the floor.

 

A broken frame, a rare photograph of the two of them, laughing together – overlaid now with shattered glass.

 

“I won’t be needing that anymore.” Wilson shrugs, stepping over the mess as he walks out of the office that’s no longer his – and the friendship he no longer wants – leaving its wreckage on the floor at House’s feet.

 

A single tear falls to slide over the glass and onto the photograph beneath it.


	32. #32 - Handcuffs

“You said I _could_ be silent, not that I _have_ to.”

 

“Shut up!” Wilson snarls, backhanding the other man across the face, knocking him from his knees to his side on the floor. The handcuffs keep his hands behind his back, so he can’t catch himself, can’t keep his face from impacting painfully with the tile. “You’ll keep your mouth shut as long as I tell you to.”

 

 _That’s gonna leave a mark,_ House thinks with a grimace, but doesn’t dare say aloud.

 

He knows it’s just a game, but he can’t help the way his heart races at the feeling of helplessness – the memories that flood his mind of another night, another man who handcuffed him, and the terror he felt then, the fear he felt in the back of Tritter’s car, fear that he would never make it to the police station at all.

 

He puts on a defiant face, argues back when he knows Wilson expects it – giving him something to play off, so that his lover will enjoy the game – but this particular game is never good for him.

 

It doesn’t matter, though. Handcuffed or not, House is at Wilson’s mercy. All Wilson has to do is ask, and he knows he’ll give in, whether he wants to play or not. He knows Wilson could have anyone he wanted – and if House can’t give him what he wants, he’ll certainly find it elsewhere.

 

And if that happened – House couldn’t bear it.

 

Secretly, Wilson knows this, and that – that power to make House do _anything_ – that’s what makes the game good for Wilson.

 

The handcuffs are real, purchased at a pawn shop – not the cheap plastic he might have found at a sex store.

 

Unbreakable.

 

Like Wilson’s hold over House.

 

And that’s the way he likes it.


	33. #33 - Lost

When House awakens after the seizure… he’s not the same.

 

There’s recognition in his eyes when he sees Cuddy, his team, and finally Wilson – but speech comes with difficulty, and he seems confused when they speak to him. His broken mind can’t quite make the words make sense.

 

He remembers, though.

 

Wilson knows, the moment he looks into pleading blue eyes that well with tears at the sight of him. House struggles for words, looking like a lost child, heartbreakingly vulnerable.

 

He would say he was sorry… if he could remember the words.

 

Wilson tells him it’s all right, soothes him with gentleness and affection… in the presence of the others. All he’s doing is biding his time, though, until he can get his former friend alone. When the others leave, Wilson sits at House’s bedside, reaching out to take his hands, looking him straight in the eye, making sure he has his full attention before he speaks in a soft, gentle voice laced with quiet malice.

 

“I hate you, House,” he informs him with a cold smile. “I’ll always hate you. You’re _nothing_ to me. You deserve this, and worse. I wish you’d died instead of her.”

 

House looks confused, uncertain, as he tries to put the words together.

 

He’s never looked so lost as he does in the moment when he finally does.


	34. #34 - Broken

It’s a nightly challenge between them – for Wilson to try to break him, with pleasure and pain and everything in between. House grins at him defiantly, readily taking everything he has to give, without losing control, without giving Wilson the victory he craves.

 

One place is off limits – always has been.

 

But one night, Wilson breaks the rules – when they aren’t even playing.

 

As daring fingers trace the outline of the gaping, puckered scar on House’s leg, House’s arrogant defiance is swallowed up by tense apprehension. “What’re you doing?” he gasps, uselessly trying to pull away, held in place by soft yet unyielding bonds. “Don’t!”

 

Wilson gives him a wink and a secretive smile as he lowers himself down the bed, gently caressing the part of House’s body he’s most ashamed of. House struggles in earnest now, desperate to escape the focused attention of his lover on the part of him he says as least sexy, least deserving of such tenderness.

 

“Don’t,” House pleads, his voice almost a sob. “Don’t, don’t, please…”

 

“Shh,” Wilson whispers. “Trust me… It’s all right…”

 

House jerks away from his touch – not physically painful, but emotionally devastating. “Please,” he whimpers, imploring. “Please…”

 

“It’s all right,” Wilson gently insists. “House… I love you. All of you. You’re… beautiful to me… and that means this is beautiful, too…”

 

If it was anyone else, House wouldn’t believe it.

 

But it’s Wilson, and he knows it’s the truth – not because Wilson never lies, but because House always knows when he does.

 

Wilson meant for tonight to be different – not a night for games, but a night for tenderness.

 

And it’s tenderness that finally won the game – finally broke the unbreakable.

 

But he never thought that breaking House would break him, too.

 

Remorse fills Wilson for hurts he really didn’t cause. Tears streak his face as he unties House and gently cradles him in his arms, murmurs reassuring words, and they lie there – broken together.


	35. #35 - Damaged

Wilson has always known that House was damaged.

 

Anyone who’s known the man for five minutes knows that much.

 

However, one night when Cuddy shows them an old homemade video – the three of them and so many others at some more-fun-than-usual hospital function, five years ago – Wilson begins to notice subtle differences between the man he once knew, and the man House is now.

 

Disturbing differences.

 

He already walked with the limp, already had that sadness in his expressive eyes – but House also had a certain… ease, back then… was more… relaxed, somehow.

 

 _Is it possible that House was actually more confident back then? Stronger? Happier, even?_

 _Is it possible that he was better off before he knew me?_

 

Wilson’s spent so much time lecturing, criticizing, doing his best to fix the damaged parts of House, that he’s managed to convince the man that he’s more damaged than he actually is.

 

It hurts Wilson to look at House, and see, among the wreckage of physical and emotional injuries, the damaged places he put there himself.


	36. #36 - Heartsick

This one was never a mystery.

 

He knew the diagnosis as soon as he started feeling the symptoms.

 

He was following Wilson toward his office, and they had just rounded a corner into a hallway that happened to be deserted at the moment. He had just tried to apologize, for the seventeenth time since awakening in that hospital room, when it happened.

 

Apparently seventeen times was one time too many for Wilson.

 

Wilson whirled on him, gripping his collar and slamming him against the wall beside his door, dark eyes narrowed and warning as he leaned in close.

 

“Don’t you get it?” he snarled. “I don’t care if you’re sorry! It doesn’t matter! She is _dead_ because of you – and you’re not worth it. Any useless words you try to say – anything you try to do to make up for it – your entire _life_ – can’t ever make it right. You should have died, but she did instead. And that’s something I can _never_ forgive!”

 

That was the moment of onset – and the moment of diagnosis.

 

And the moment when House knew there was only one cure.

 

As he sits on the sofa, holding the razorblade against his wrist, staring down at it in dreadful anticipation, he’s heartsick – but he knows in a few short moments, he won’t be sick anymore.

 

He won’t be _anything_ anymore.


	37. #37 - Leather

It’s the night after the fateful poker game, and House expected to spend it alone.

 

He didn’t expect the polite, quiet knock at his door – or Wilson’s less-polite entrance, pushing his way in without asking for permission and shoving him down onto the couch without explanation.

 

And he definitely didn’t expect Wilson to stand over him, glaring, as he whipped his belt free from the beltloops of his pants, smooth brown leather snapping against fabric in a machine-gun staccato sound that causes his stomach to drop.

 

He’s heard that sound before, many times – but he tries not to think of those times now.

 

And from the dark, determined expression on Wilson’s face, it looks as if the trouble of the moment is more than enough to consider.

 

“Did you really think I’d let you just humiliate me in front of all those people? Did you think I’d let you just get away with it? Well, if you’re determined to act like a child, then I’m going to treat you like a child!”

 

House doesn’t bother to mention that “all those people” will probably never again think of Dr. James Wilson, as long as they live; he’s just not that important to them – not as important as he thinks he is.

 

No, that would likely only make things worse.

 

“My relationship with Grace is none of your business – and it’s certainly none of theirs,” Wilson snarls as he brings the belt down hard across House’s face, then again across his damaged thigh.

 

Again and again it falls, and House, who wasn’t expecting the first blow to actually fall, is too stunned to defend himself – hasn’t time to, anyway. When he’s finished, Wilson’s panting, having exerted himself more than he intended. He crouches beside House, who flinches away from him, his body curled defensively around his most vulnerable part. Tense, anticipating further violence, House is unusually silent, unaware that he’s holding his breath.

 

Wilson’s gentle touch against his cheek is in sharp contrast with his previous actions, as he muses softly, “Let’s see if you do any better at keeping _this_ secret.”


	38. #38 - Lace

House sits on the lid of the toilet in his bathroom, unusually subdued as Wilson works over the injuries he inflicted only minutes before. Wilson is bandaging a place just above his right eye, where the belt struck hard enough to break the skin.

 

A layer of gauze falls over House’s eye for a moment, and before Wilson can gently press it back in place, fastening it there with medical tape – House catches a glimpse of his friend through the gauze. It’s like looking at him through a veil of lace… all the hardness and anger of moments earlier melted away into a softened haze.

 

And then his vision is clear again, and he can see the warning in Wilson’s eyes, contrasting with the softness of his voice and his hands as he gently patches up the damage he’s wrought.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t make me do things like this, House. I hate hurting you.”

 

House looks away, conflicted and confused. He’s angry at Wilson, but the tone of his voice makes House feel guilty – like it’s his fault.

 

 _Maybe it is._

 

“I’m sorry,” he answers softly.

 

Wilson’s fingers caress through his hair as he finishes the bandage, and his features soften into an indulgent, affectionate smile. “It’s all right. We won’t let it happen again, will we?”

 

House shakes his head, not knowing how else to respond. He feels numb, hardly able to believe the events of the evening have actually happened. As he glances uncertainly up at Wilson, now quietly putting away the left-over first aid supplies, he sees him in a new light.

 

He’s a man of confusing contrasts.

 

House has watched him go from calm, to brutal, to compassionate and tender, all in the space of an hour’s time.

 

Frighteningly soft… beautifully dangerous…

 

Leather and lace.


	39. #39 - Tie

These hospital benefit events are always boring – but tonight, House is anything but bored. He watches from a darkened doorway across the room, unable to suppress his jealousy.

 

Since she’s realized she hasn’t a chance with House, Cameron’s taken to flirting with Wilson – who looks amazing tonight, dressed all in black, and utterly in his element. As Cameron reaches to adjust Wilson’s tie, which wasn’t askew in the first place, House represses the urge to limp over there and physically remove her hands – from Wilson, and maybe even from her if she doesn’t stop.

 

His mind returns to the night before, when Wilson made more interesting use of that tie he’s wearing, and several others. House’s wrists, ankles, mouth, eyes – among other things – bound in silk, while Wilson had his expert way with him.

 

He knows Cameron’s doing it to make him jealous, and he knows Wilson isn’t interested in her.

 

He keeps telling himself those things as he turns away in disgust, unable to watch anymore.

 

He draws in a sharp, startled breath when he feels a strong hand slide possessively around his waist, feels a soft kiss on the nape of his neck. The low, seductive sound of Wilson’s voice in his ear drives all thoughts of anything else from his mind.

 

“Wonder if she’d be so eager to touch my tie… if she knew where it’s been…”

 

Despite his arousal, House can’t help but laugh quietly as he turns around to face Wilson, a smug sparkle in his eyes. “Maybe she’d be more eager,” he points out.

 

Then they’re laughing together… and then their laughter is muffled by a kiss… and then, Wilson closes the door, shutting them into the dark with only each other, and the benefit, Cameron, everything but the two of them is forgotten.


	40. #40 - Scars

Everyone knows House is scarred.

 

The enormous scar on his leg defines who he is, though he keeps it hidden from the eyes of the world.

 

But there are other scars, hidden much deeper – scars no one suspects he bears.

 

There’s the criss-cross pattern that marks his back, from the time his father went a little too far in punishing him for a lewd comment about a woman who walked by on the street.

 

There’s the smaller mark on the inside of his wrist, where his hand was held to the glowing red stove coil, to teach him not to talk back – a lesson which clearly didn’t take.

 

And there are other scars, ones no one knows exist at all, from the whispered words he hears behind the well-intentioned judgment and criticism of his friend.

 

 _He was right about you… Nothing you do is right… Why can’t you be normal, like everyone else? Why can’t you be the way you’re supposed to be?_

 

He’s learned to hide his scars well – and no one ever suspects.


	41. #41 - Burned Bridges

He never expected to be this lonely.

 

He thought the change of scenery would be healing – couldn’t imagine ever _wanting_ to return to the place that held so many painful memories for him. With ruthless emotional brutality, four words of savage cruelty, he struck a match and set the wreckage of their friendship ablaze.

 

 _We were_ never _friends._

 

The first time he tries to call, months later – there’s no answer.

 

The second time, he answers – and immediately hangs up.

 

Cruel irony – now House is the one who can’t forgive.

 

Wilson’s never burnt a bridge he really regretted – not until now.


	42. #42 - Dangerous

It doesn’t happen very often.

 

Usually, Wilson is calm, even-tempered, fun to be around – and House begins to focus only on the things he loves about him. He lets down his guard, stops measuring his words… and inevitably, something irreparably stupid will slip out.

 

An appreciative comment about some new nurse they pass in the hall – a derisive remark about his taste in television, or clothes, or women – and unexpectedly, House finds himself on the receiving end of Wilson’s wrath – exploding like lightning that’s been slowly building from a quiet, static charge.

 

Sometimes, House forgets how dangerous Wilson can be.


	43. #43 - Shower

The hot water beats down on his battered body, the room filling up with soothing steam.

 

House feels sick, his stomach roiling, his body dealing with the shock his mind can’t quite process.

 

He stares down at the water, swirling in circles down the drain… tinged with red.

 

He hears the door open, hears the curtain pulled back, though he doesn’t turn around. His stomach drops at the sound. He knows who it is – and he doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t want to hear his excuses.

 

Doesn’t want to ever see him again.

 

Then he’s behind him – strong, gentle arms wrapping around him and pulling him back – and House can’t help but tense at his touch, a shudder of revulsion mingling with the sick, twisted need he feels, even now, for his comfort.

 

“I’m sorry,” is whispered in his ear, the words followed by tender kisses along his shoulder, his throat. “I thought you wanted it… thought you were playing along…”

 

House doesn’t respond, knows it’s a lie… but he doesn’t pull away, either.

 

“I hate you,” he whispers at last, the words harsh and despondent, barely audible over the pounding spray that falls on both of them.

 

He feels Wilson’s smile against his damp skin, feels him shake his head. “No, you don’t,” he replies with soft confidence.

 

And House does feel hatred, disgust, revulsion – at himself – because even now, Wilson knows him too well. Even now, he doesn’t hate him for what he’s done.

 

He’s glad for the hot water that pours down on them – glad, because it hides the tears.

 

Wilson still knows they’re there – and behind him… Wilson smiles.


	44. #44 - Breakdown

“Do you know how pathetic you are?”

 

It’s not that the question is any worse than a hundred other scathing remarks House has hurled at him over the years. It’s not that Wilson is struck any deeper by this particular comment. It’s just that they’ve all built up over time, until he’s sure that he can’t take even _one more_ …

 

And House just gave him that one more…

 

Wilson’s breakdown comes with the force of a hurricane.

 

“Pathetic, huh?” he sneers, taking a step closer to his friend, who stares at him through surprised eyes under raised brows. “You wanna talk pathetic? Let’s try a fifty-year-old genius who could be at the top of his field if he didn’t have the unique talent of making everyone who meets him hate him within five seconds – who’s never been married, and has managed to drive away anyone who ever showed an interest in him, even if they were too good for him anyway.”

 

Wilson keeps advancing as he speaks, his voice lowering in volume but rising in intensity as he goes on, his rage feeding on the hurt in House’s eyes.

 

“Let’s not get into the drug habit, and the alcoholism, and the fact that he’s got to pay for sex, because no woman in her right mind would touch him once if she knew she’d have to again. We won’t get into the part where he’s a physical _and_ emotional cripple, so everyone who knows him at all views him with pity – if they can see through how much they despise him, how much he disgusts them.”

 

Wilson is silent for a moment, shaking his head in derision as he looks House up and down. “ _I’m_ pathetic? Right.”

 

House smiles, though his eyes are suspiciously damp, and his low voice trembles slightly when he speaks. “Right,” he agrees in a tone of quiet, bitter triumph. “You are. Because in spite of all the things you just mentioned – in spite of how pathetic that poor schmuck you’re talking about is – it made you feel better to knock him down _just one more time_.”

 

House turns and limps toward the door, but Wilson thinks he’s never seen more dignity in his stance – and Wilson’s never felt so low, as House delivers his parting words.

 

“And if that’s what it takes to make you feel like a man – you’re more pathetic than I thought.”


	45. #45 - Shoulder

“She left me.”

 

Wilson feels satisfaction, relief, triumph – immediately followed by guilt for such feelings. He should be feeling sympathy, compassion for the loss to which his best friend has just confessed.

 

He can’t help it.

 

He’s _glad_ Stacey’s gone.

 

After hours of reluctant talking, then yelling, then _raging_ – House finally breaks down, as Wilson’s never seen him break before…as he never would with anyone else. Once again, Wilson feels an inappropriate sense of pleasure – not at House’s pain, but at the fact that he’ll willingly share it with him.

 

He cautiously puts his arms around House, draws his head to his shoulder, soothing him, offering his support and comfort in hushed, sympathetic tones… fighting to keep the secret smile of satisfaction from his face.


	46. #46 - Pillow

Wilson’s frustrated. He’s had a long, exhausting day in which he lost two patients, and had to inform another that there’s nothing else he can do. House lies pinned beneath him on the sofa, reveling in Wilson’s rougher-than-usual attentions, as the younger man seeks to work out his tensions on his lover’s willing body.

 

In hindsight, House knows that it was probably the wrong moment to whisper someone else’s name in Wilson’s ear.

 

It was really, _really_ the wrong moment to whisper _Cuddy’s_ name.

 

There’s no time to tell Wilson he was only teasing.

 

Fury flashes in brown eyes, and House recognizes the danger a moment before the throw pillow behind his head is snatched away, and his head smacks painfully against the arm of the sofa behind him. Before he can react, the small, thick pillow is pressed over his face – hard, suffocating, unrelenting despite his ill-aimed, flailing struggles. Wilson has greater strength, greater leverage on his side, and regardless of his efforts, House’s lungs burn for breath that’s denied them.

 

“You want her? You want her instead of me?” He hears the demanding whisper in his ear.

 

He struggles to shake his head, to deny it; it’s not true, anyway. It was just a joke – apparently not funny.

 

Wilson presses down harder to emphasize his words as he snarls, “You’re… _mine_.”

 

House nods eagerly, desperate to make Wilson relent – and at last, he does. House gasps in a desperate draught of air – which is immediately stolen away again by Wilson’s hard, possessive kiss.

 

House knows he should be bothered by what just happened – but in a twisted way it’s hot to think that Wilson wants him, _needs_ him that badly. Within moments the incident is forgotten, and both are lost in the violent frenzy of their mutual need.


	47. #47 - Silent Tears

House rarely cries – and only one person has ever been allowed to see it.

 

Following his surgery, when he awakened to what Stacey had done, and screamed at her to _get out_ , refusing to accept her comfort and desperate apologies – it was only Wilson whom he had allowed to stay, only Wilson who had been allowed near enough to witness the tears of rage, loss, and frustration that streaked his face.

 

Months later, when Stacey left him, Wilson was the one who stayed with him in his apartment, in spite of the anger and insults and rude attempts to get Wilson to abandon him as well. Eventually, Wilson had seen his tears then, as well, when House had broken down one night, not bothering to try to hide it from the only person who had proven to be a constant in his life.

 

But all that’s ended now – ended when House awakened in the hospital bed, Cuddy asleep at his side, just in time to watch Wilson turn and walk away, his own face streaked with tears of grief.

 

House turns his head and cries, silent tears soaking into his pillow – and this time, no one is there to see.


	48. #48 - Our Secret

She finds me on the balcony.

 

I wish she would go away, wish she wouldn’t question, wouldn’t look at me with that damned concern in her eyes – because he’s watching, from his own office, his head bowed over his desk as if he’s focused on his work.

 

But he’s not.

 

I can feel each heated, suspicious glance – know he’s wondering if I will keep our secret.

 

I force myself not to flinch as she touches my bruised shoulder, makes me turn to face her – and him, just past her. My eyes meet his for an instant before I look her in the eye – all innocence.

 

“House,” she asks, so concerned, so compassionate. “Are you all right? Is… everything… all right?”

 

It almost makes me want to cry.

 

“Everything is just perfect, Cuddy. Go away.”

 

I snap at her, hoping to drive her away before she can notice that my cane is on the wrong side today. My right arm is too sore to hold it. I know he didn’t mean to shake me that hard – didn’t mean to wrench it so badly. If I’d just do a better job of keeping him happy…

 

“Are you sure?” she asks, and oh God, her voice is softer now, with a gentleness I rarely hear from anyone anymore.

 

 _Go away, go away before you ruin everything…_

 

“Oh, wait,” I reply with a sarcastic smile. “I just remembered – my life sucks because someone performed a medical procedure on me without my consent, and now I can’t walk…”

 

 _No, stupid, don’t draw attention to the cane…_

 

“And I just remembered something else,” I continue in a cold voice of false surprise, still smiling. “You’re not someone I care to talk to about my personal life. So if you don’t mind, would you kindly go… away.”

 

It was risky, but I knew the mention of that long-ago surgery would do it. Guilt is evident on her face, and her eyes fill with unshed tears. She nods – probably too emotional to speak – and turns and walks away.

 

I’ve hurt her. She was just trying to help me, to reach out to me, and I’ve hurt her – but I’ve also managed to push her away.

 

And that’s good.

 

I catch his eye before I turn and go back to my office – and he’s smiling.

 

He approves.

 

Our secret is safe for another day, and hopefully… so am I.


	49. #49 - Dark

There’s nothing House hates more than being in the dark – figuratively, or literally.

 

Wilson promises he won’t blindfold him, won’t take that last control from him – and then waits until he’s bound, gagged, at his mercy and unable to voice his protest, before tying something over his eyes and shutting out the slightest shred of light.

 

It drives him to the point of panic – not knowing where the next touch will come from, not knowing if it will tingle, or tickle, or hurt like hell.

 

In the darkness, all control is relinquished to the one who’s still in the light.


	50. #50 - Light

Wilson is not what he seems to be in the light of day.

 

Each morning, he goes to work and plays his part – caring, concerned doctor, devoted to his patients’ well-being – and he plays it well. Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel like playing.

 

Sometimes, he believes it’s real.

 

Sometimes, it _is_ real. He _does_ care.

 

But there are other things for which he cares more.

 

It’s only in the privacy of home that he can reveal who he really is – and only to one person.

 

His darkest appetites, the ones not met by his fulfilling career – the need to hurt, the need to own, the need to control – are the perfect compliment to the needs of his lover – the need to be punished, to be owned, to surrender control to someone else.

 

Wilson is grateful to give vent to his darkness – because it allows him to live in the light.


	51. #51 - Moon

When the sky is clear, House can see the moon through his tiny window.

 

It’s the only glimpse he gets of outdoors anymore.

 

Wilson brought him here, a week after Amber died. House never saw the blow coming from behind – never suspected Wilson’s reason for bringing him _there_ to “talk”.

 

When he came to that first night, chained to the basement wall, Wilson was sitting beside him, regret and resignation mingled in dark eyes tinged with a frightening madness born of his grief.

 

“I’m sorry,” House whispered, immediately misunderstanding – thinking that this was about revenge, punishment.

 

Wilson just sadly shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault, House. You have to understand. It could have happened at any time – anywhere. You couldn’t control it – I couldn’t control it. There are a thousand other ways I could have lost her.”

 

His voice softened as he leaned closer, and House flinched, still expecting a blow – but only receiving a tender kiss. He yielded to it, willing to submit until he could figure a way out of this.

 

He didn’t know yet that there _was_ no way.

 

Wilson pulled back, that desperate madness mingled with affection in his eyes – and with his chillingly soft words, House understood.

 

“I can’t lose you, too. No matter what. I can’t… even if that means you never see the light of day again.”


	52. #53 - Gift

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

Hell, it seemed like the best idea he’d ever had.

 

Pretending not to remember Wilson’s birthday was easy. It wasn’t as if he had remembered Wilson’s last birthday. Of course, now that they were openly, officially together…

 

By the end of the day, Wilson was visibly agitated… but House played it cool.

 

It would be worth it to see the look on Wilson’s face when he walked through the door of his apartment to find House sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing the things he had purchased at the only sex shop in downtown Princeton.

 

Black leather shorts, far tighter than was comfortable – a black leather harness strapped around his bare chest – a matching black gag fastened into his mouth – and finally, wide cuffs of black leather that attached behind his back with a hook-and-eye style latch… which meant that the wearer could fasten them together on his own, but would be unable to unfasten them again without assistance.

 

He carefully laid out the oversized birthday card he had purchased, on the floor facing away from him. The silly picture and printed words were meaningless. The sloppily scrawled message inside was what mattered.

 

“Happy Birthday, Master… Ready to unwrap your gift?”

 

Okay, so it wasn’t the most original line in the book – but House had a feeling that the prospect of having him as a willing slave for a night would take Wilson’s focus completely off the cheesy card.

 

Wilson’s jaw went slack when he opened the bedroom door – and other things went decidedly not slack.

 

House waited, breathless with anticipation, as Wilson silently read the card and tossed it aside. He stared down at House for a long moment, dark eyes darkening further with lust as he took in the appealing picture he presented.

 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked in a low, husky voice.

 

House nodded emphatically.

 

Wilson crouched in front of him, pulling him nearer by the straps of the harness. “I don’t always play nice with my new toys,” he warned with a sly smile.

 

House’s response was a careless shrug, his eyes twinkling in playful challenge.

 

Something sharp and dangerous flashed in Wilson’s eyes, his smile widening slightly as he nodded, accepting his gift. The smile disappeared an instant later as he ordered in a hard-edged tone,

 

“Get on your knees.”


	53. #53 - Love

It’s been two months since they surrendered to attraction – and for House, attraction’s drifting toward much more.

 

He’s tried to wall away his heart, tried to hide the feelings swelling there – but his resolve’s faltering. Every time he looks into warm eyes full of affection and desire, he’s a little more sure that this time – this time, surely it’s safe.

 

This is _Wilson_.

 

No one knows him better; no one else would he dare to trust.

 

One night, before he even knows he’s going to say them – the words are out.

 

 _“I love you.”_

 

His breath hitches, his heart skips a beat – and he waits.

 

After a still, silent moment he dares to look up into startled, dark eyes that stare down at him in wonder. Slowly, Wilson’s lips curve into a smile of delight and affection. He leans down to bestow a tender kiss before withdrawing to meet House’s hopeful, vulnerable eyes – and as he speaks an unexpected and wholly devastating answer, House detects a hint of wicked mirth in his gaze.

 

 _“I know.”_


	54. #54 - Possessive

The last thing he expected was for her to kiss him.

 

He doesn’t mean to kiss her back; it’s habit, really. A pretty woman kisses you – you kiss back.

 

It’s not like it happens all that often.

 

She’s reaching into her pocket. His hand rises to stop its progress as she brings it toward him – but suddenly, there’s empty space where Cameron was.

 

And then, empty space is filled with Wilson.

 

“What is this?” he demands, voice high, trembling with outrage as he looks between them. “With the… with the kissing, and the touching, and the… open… hypodermic… needle?” He frowns at Cameron, puzzled, questioning.

 

Cameron looks trapped, tucks the needle into her pocket as she opens her mouth to respond.

 

Wilson waves a dismissive hand, muttering, “Oh, to hell with it… I don’t care about that. Let’s just make one thing clear…”

 

He grabs House’s collar roughly and jerks him forward into a hard, possessive kiss, claiming his mouth with his own, pushing him back over his desk as he presses in close. When he’s finished, House is breathless, slumped against the desk, his splayed legs apparently lacking the strength to hold him up. He stares up at Wilson through wide, stunned eyes full of new admiration – and desire.

 

“ _This_ …” Wilson indicates House with a sweeping gesture as he turns toward Cameron. “… is _mine_. Hands off. Lips off. _Everything_ off. Capiche?”

 

Cameron nods hurriedly, eyes round and startled as she backs toward the door, then turns on her heel and scurries away.

 

Wilson turns back to House, who’s laughing softly, watching Cameron go. “So much for keeping it quiet at work…” His voice trails off as he looks up at the dark, almost predatory expression on Wilson’s face. “Um… that was… wasn’t anything…”

 

“Damn right it wasn’t,” Wilson mutters as he drags House up off the desk by his collar again, kissing him soundly.

 

One hand slips down between House’s legs, squeezing hard until House lets out a choked, frantic moan against his mouth. Wilson draws back slightly, a hard, warning look in his eyes as he whispers, “This is mine, too. And if I ever catch you forgetting that very important fact again… you’ll spend the next week tied to my bed while I remind you.”

 

House grins despite the almost painful pressure of Wilson’s grip. “Is that a promise?” he gasps, his voice hoarse with need.

 

Wilson’s eyes narrow at House’s defiant question, and he responds by claiming his mouth again, pressing him backward until his back is flat against his desk.

 

House smirks up at his jealously amorous lover. “So much for keeping the secret, huh?” he repeats, clearly quite pleased with himself.

 

“What secret?” Wilson growls, hands gripping House’s wrists, holding them over his head as he leans in for another kiss. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”


	55. #55 - Bareback

Passion is interrupted by practicality.

 

House gently pushes Wilson back, away from him.

 

“Just a second…” He reaches into the nightstand. It’s empty. “Damn.”

 

Wilson frowns, impatient – shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve been tested. We’re safe.”

 

House meets his eyes. “Six months ago. Are you sure you’re still safe?”

 

Wilson smiles. “We’ve been together _seven_ months.”

 

House’s expression doesn’t change, and neither does his tone. “Are you sure you’re still safe?”

 

Hurt in Wilson’s eyes and voice ensure he’ll get his way, despite House’s misgivings, as he lies softly, “Of course I am. There’s only been you… Don’t you trust me?”


	56. #56 - Negotiate

“Where were _you_ all night?”

 

House’s voice is hoarse with sleep, and vaguely accusing as he walks into the kitchen – and stops short at Wilson’s appearance.

 

He’s sitting at the table, sipping his coffee, staring into space. He looks up when House enters, revealing that his face is bruised and swollen, and there’s a strange coldness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

 

Wilson had a literal hell of a night.

 

He’s feeling better now. Stronger.

 

Less broken and devasted – more furious and resentful.

 

He sips his coffee again, slowly sets down the cup, meeting House’s eyes. “I was with Tritter,” he responds in a soft, dangerous voice. “Negotiating.” He pauses as he rises painfully, moving to put the cup in the sink. “You’re a free man.”

 

House notices the awkward way in which Wilson is moving, the obvious pain in his every step – and hot fury flares up within him.

 

“That bastard,” he mutters, moving up behind Wilson at the sink. “We’ll make him pay for this. He has no right to touch you. We’re going straight to the…”

 

Wilson whirls around abruptly, swinging his arm in a sharp slap that sends House staggering, staring up at him, bewildered, fingers gingerly brushing his bleeding lip.

 

“We’re going to _no one_!” Wilson declares, his voice trembling with rage as he steps closer, and House instinctively takes a step back. “You want this to mean _nothing_? We go to anybody about this, and your case proceeds as he planned! You want last night to be completely worthless?”

 

House stares in shock, slowly processing his words. “You shouldn’t have… I mean… you didn’t have to…”

 

“Well, I did,” Wilson sneers bitterly. “And you’re a free man. Mostly.”

 

“Mostly?” House echoes dumbly, watching warily but not moving away as Wilson slowly moves toward him.

 

“Yeah.” Wilson nods as he closes the distance between them.

 

House is not using his cane yet this morning, and a swift, cruel motion of Wilson’s foot knocks his good leg out from under him, sending him sprawling on the floor at Wilson’s feet. Glaring coldly down at him, Wilson adds the final verbal blow, and all becomes chillingly clear.

 

“You owe me,” he whispers. “Everything he took from me last night – you owe.”


	57. #57 - Second Chance

“Please.” Wilson’s voice is unusually humble. “Give me a second chance? I _love_ you…”

 

House knows better than to yield. Words he’s spoken to abuse victims in the clinic echo, harsh and insensitive… and utterly true.

 

 _To guys like him, forgiveness is permission. You’re an idiot if you let him touch you again. Taking him back is telling him to do whatever he wants – you’ll roll over and take it, every time…_

 

Wilson’s never hurt him – physically.

 

House is fairly certain the principle applies to unfaithfulness as well as abuse.

 

He’s equally certain that Wilson’s going to get his second chance.

 

Because when it comes to denying Wilson anything he asks – House loves him too much.

 

House never had a _first_ chance to begin with.


	58. #58 - Breathe

By now, he’s used to the games.

 

But Wilson’s never instigated one this cruel.

 

The cord around his throat cuts off his breath – and Wilson holds it.

 

“If I hear the first hint of the safe word on your lips,” Wilson whispers from behind him, “I’ll let go – but I’ll walk out that door, and never come back.”

 

House isn’t sure he means it – but he’s sure enough to ensure his silence.

 

He’s blacking out when Wilson releases him at last, and oxygen floods his lungs again.

 

Thrilled with his power, Wilson smiles down at him. “I love you, too,” he murmurs.

 

House knows all too well that it’s a lie.

 

It doesn’t matter.

 

He needs Wilson more than he needs the air he breathes.


	59. #59 - Anger

As his living room light switches on, House is startled to see Wilson sitting on his sofa – quiet, solemn… waiting.

 

“You know, that key’s for emergencies.”

 

Wilson doesn’t acknowledge the comment, is silent for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is soft, eerily calm.

 

“I had a physical today. My PCP put me on medication for elevated BP.”

 

Not seeing the point, House shrugs as he hangs up his coat. “Guess you’d better lay off the fast food, then, huh, Jimmy?”

 

“There’s a recent study on the effects of anger on a person’s health,” Wilson continues as if House hasn’t spoken. “How it taxes the body, contributes to stress-related illness... It can even kill if a person doesn’t find an… an outlet. Some way of dealing with the anger.”

 

House snorts rudely. “Guess you’re due to cash it in anytime, then, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m trying to deal with my anger right now…”

 

“Maybe you’d be better off waiting in the office of a professional, instead of my living room,” House points out. “I’m thinking you have a better chance of someone actually caring about your issues if you pay them to.”

 

Wilson is silent – not in the least amused – as he slowly rises to his feet. House’s eyes widen as he notices the tightly clenched fists at Wilson’s sides, and the look of dark determination in his narrowed eyes. Wilson’s voice is frighteningly soft, his smile disturbingly cold, as he finally responds to House’s goading.

 

“I didn’t come here to talk.”

 

As Wilson leaves House’s apartment an hour later, he pauses by the trash can, taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket – his prescription for blood pressure medication. With a smile of cold satisfaction, Wilson crumples the paper in his hand and tosses it into the trash.


	60. #60 - Letting Go

“I can’t keep doing this, House.”

 

Wilson’s voice is quiet, apologetic, as he speaks into the stillness. He can’t look into the face of his friend, the man he’s not sure he can forgive. At this point, he’s not sure House cares whether or not he’s forgiven, anyway.

 

“This isn’t healthy, for either of us. I’ve known it for a long time. I know this… isn’t a friendship. This is… something else, but… whatever it is… it’s poison. To both of us. I keep holding on, because… I think because it’s… comfortable. I’m used to this. But… I have to let you go, House…”

 

He rises, moving closer to the hospital bed where his friend lies, still and silent and utterly unaware of his anguished bedside confessions.

 

“I haven’t got a choice…”

 

Wilson’s eyes are dry, his expression calm but sorrowful as he draws the needle from his pocket, presses the empty syringe into the iv tube connected to House’s arm.

 

“… you know as well as I do… we’re both better off this way.”


	61. #61 - Hatred

“I hate that shirt on you.”

 

House glances at Wilson in the driver’s seat, frowning.

 

The shirt is pale blue, and earned the admiration of every woman – and a few of the men – at the benefit that night. In spite of himself, House enjoyed the rare romantic attention. Now, he glances uncertainly down at the shirt before speaking.

 

“I thought you loved this shirt.”

 

“You thought wrong.”

 

House smiles, putting the pieces together. He shifts nearer, one hand gliding up Wilson’s chest while the other caresses his neck.

 

“Jealous?” House murmurs as he follows the touch with a series of tender kisses along Wilson’s throat. “Don’t be… No matter how hot… everyone… at that party… thinks I am… you know… you’re the only… man for me…”

 

It’s an emotional slap in the face when Wilson roughly shoves him back with an irritated hiss. “Stop it,” he snaps. His expression is dark, angry, as he stares out the windshield. A moment later he barely breathes out the word, “Slut.”

 

The exhilaration House felt fades at Wilson’s reaction, his stomach feeling queasy as he realizes that this is not over.

 

Wilson’s just waiting until his hands are free to participate in the “conversation”.

 

By the time they pull into the driveway, House has decided that it’s not the shirt Wilson hates.

 

It’s not having House all to himself, even if only for an evening.

 

In the solitude of their apartment, Wilson spends the night reasserting his claim, despite House’s protests, resistance, and finally… pleas.

 

The next day, once Wilson has gone to work, and once he can find the strength to move again, House builds a fire in the fireplace… and tosses the shirt into it, watching with dull, defeated eyes as it burns.

 

He can’t stand the sight of it anymore.


	62. #62 - Alone

Wilson knows exactly what he’s doing.

 

His cruel words are, in effect, ending their entire relationship.

 

Except – he’s not really ending it, so much as… fixing it. Making it what it always should have been.

 

He’s breaking House’s heart – and looking forward to putting it back together again… the way he wants it.

 

He’ll let House suffer awhile, let him see how miserable he is alone, wait until he’s sure he’s lost Wilson forever – then take him back.

 

With… conditions.

 

Wilson knows, by then, House will be desperate – willing to do anything for Wilson’s forgiveness… anything, not to be alone.


	63. #63 - Unfair

House should have known better than to try that “one last time”.

 

He really should have known better than to make one particularly unfortunate comment.

 

“You’re not being fair.”

 

Wilson’s control breaks, and before either of them knows it, he’s around his desk and in House’s face.

 

“You know what’s unfair, House? What’s unfair is the fact that a worthless, miserable addict like you survived, and the generous, giving woman who was only there because of said drug addict had to die because of his selfish, reckless behavior! The fact that you’re alive right now is what’s unfair!”

 

House is quiet for long enough that Wilson thinks it’s over, and turns back toward his desk.

 

“No!” House nearly shouts, drawing Wilson’s surprised attention. “No, you wanna know what’s unfair, Wilson? What’s unfair is that I’ve been your friend for the last ten years – and you threw it away for a girl you’d been with less than six months! I might not have a lot to give when it comes to sentimental, emotional crap – but what little there is has always been yours! And you were willing to throw away my life in place of hers! Does that sound fair to you?”

 

After a calmly pensive moment, Wilson replies quietly, “No.” A moment later he adds, “And I’d choose her again.”

 

It’s not right. It’s completely unfair. But it’s reality.

 

With nothing left to say, House turns and walks out of Wilson’s office… leaving the remnants of his shattered illusions behind.


	64. #64 - Bruises

The bathroom door is locked. House knows he won’t be interrupted.

 

He hopes Wilson doesn’t try to get in and find it locked, though – because he wouldn’t like it at all.

 

He winces as he removes his shirt, examining himself in the mirror.

 

Not so bad this time.

 

A fairly light bruise just beneath his shoulder; it’ll be gone in a day or two.

 

A darker, deeper bruise low on his stomach… A grimace as he presses it, testing.

 

Yeah. That one’s gonna last a little longer.

 

The ones on his arm, though – the ones in the shape of a familiar hand – bring a grim smile to his lips.

 

Six months together – and Wilson still won’t let him tell anyone. He’d never admit it, but it hurts to think that Wilson doesn’t want anyone to know… that he’s… ashamed of him.

 

The bruises hurt – but they’re a physical reminder of the relationship. They’re almost like… marks of ownership… of belonging – proof that he’s Wilson’s. House’s fingertips trace slowly over the lines where Wilson’s fingers clutched his arm – and his expression becomes softer, wistful.

 

These painful marks of Wilson’s anger are the closest House may ever come to holding his hand.


	65. #65 - Whip

“Wilson…” House’s voice is hushed and hesitant as he approaches the sofa where Wilson sits, watching television. “I… I need a pill.” His limp is more pronounced, and Wilson notices that House’s legs are shaking as he stands there, waiting for Wilson to give him what he needs.

 

These past few weeks, they’ve been using a new plan, to help House overcome his addiction – a plan of Wilson’s design. Wilson holds his pills, and House only gets them when Wilson deems it necessary.

 

Wilson looks up at him, his expression calm, patient, concerned. He frowns. “Are you sure?”

 

House bites his lip, his breath hitching slightly in his throat. “I… yeah. I… I can’t wait any more.”

 

Wilson rises slowly, acutely aware of the way House tenses when he moves.

 

“You know it’ll cost you.”

 

House swallows hard. “How much?” His voice is trembling slightly.

 

“It’s only been eight hours,” Wilson observes, his tone mild. He pauses. “Fifteen.”

 

House winces, but then nods hurriedly. “Yes. I… I can’t…”

 

Wilson gives him a slow, solemn nod. “All right. If you’re sure it’s worth it.”

 

He goes to the closet, taking something down from the top shelf. By the time he turns around, House is facing him – shirtless – and staring with dread at the sturdy leather whip curled around Wilson’s hand. Wilson doesn’t speak; just nods toward House while making a spinning gesture with his free hand. Silent, obedient, House turns around, exposing his already-scarred back to Wilson’s lash.

 

By the time they reach number seven, House is on his knees on the floor. Number eleven draws a strangled scream from his throat, though he bites it back with an effort. By fifteen, he’s quietly sobbing, his narrow shoulders shaking, bloodied where the new beating tore into the remnants of the last one.

 

Wilson gathers the supplies he needs, and then goes to House’s side, goes down on his knees beside him, one hand gently stroking through his hair. There are tears in his eyes as he quietly soothes House, blotting the blood from his back with a soft, warm cloth, and bandaging the fresh wounds.

 

When it’s over, he shakes a single white pill into House’s hand.

 

“Negative reinforcement,” he repeats for what feels like the hundredth time – and it may be, though it’s only been a few short weeks. “I know this is going to work.”

 

House nods, closing his eyes against his tears, head falling back with relief as he waits for the Vicodin to do its job and soothe both the ache in his leg and the searing agony on his back.

 

Wilson’s voice is sad, gentle, as he presses a hand to House’s cheek, his eyes filling with tears when House presses into his touch.

 

“Maybe next time… you can go longer without it.” He presses a gentle kiss to House’s forehead as he stands, tipping his chin up and looking him in the eye as he whispers, “Remember – I’m only doing this because I love you.”


	66. #66 - Hard

“Look, I know you don’t wanna hear me, but I… guess I’m just hoping you will… I’m so… so sorry, Wilson…”

 

There’s no time to react as Wilson comes around his desk, grasping his arms and slamming him against the wall, hard. Warm lips press against his in a hard, punishing kiss. Fierce and possessive and furious, Wilson’s hands move over his body, and he draws back to meet House’s eyes with an angry, demanding glare.

 

“Wilson… I…”

 

“Shut up,” Wilson hisses. “I hate you.”

 

He kisses House again, hard enough to knock his head into the wall, before relenting, allowing House to draw breath. Disoriented, confused, hopeful, aroused – House can’t tell what he’s feeling as Wilson grips his arms painfully and pins him against the wall.

 

“I wish you were her… wish you’d died in her place… but I can’t ever be with her again. You made sure of that,” Wilson whispers, his voice harsh with bitter tears. “She was never the proxy. You are,” he sneers. “You’ll have to do.”

 

It hurts so much; it’s so hard for House to kiss Wilson again after those agonizing words – but he yields to Wilson’s kiss, raising tentative hands to grip Wilson’s waist and pull him closer.

 

It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do – but he’ll surrender to this, if it’s what Wilson needs.


	67. #67 - Face-to-Face

For months, Wilson tries to get House to try it face-to-face.

 

There’s so much vulnerability inherent in looking into the eyes of his lover. House likes his back to Wilson, so he can hide the moments when his emotions are so helplessly, completely displayed.

 

Gradually, Wilson convinces him to try it – and House finds an unexpected satisfaction in the intense intimacy and trust of facing Wilson.

 

The first time Wilson doesn’t want to face him – House knows his trust has been betrayed.

 

He doesn’t want to face Wilson tonight, either.

 

He doesn’t want to see their ending in his eyes.


	68. #68 - The Price

“I miss her, House.”

 

Wilson takes another drink of the ironically colored liquid, staring at the glass as he speaks to the anxious man standing beside the sofa. When there’s no response, he looks up through dark, warning eyes.

 

“Did you hear me?”

 

House nods nervously, edging between the coffee table and the sofa. “It’s just… I… was in the clinic today, and… my leg…”

 

“We have a deal, House.”

 

“I… I know.”

 

House struggles to kneel in front of Wilson, who offers no assistance despite House’s obvious pain. He sets the glass on the coffee table, leans back and closes his eyes, one hand cupping the bulge in the front of his jeans.

 

“You agreed to this, House,” Wilson reminds him, voice slightly slurred. “You said you’d do anything if I’d forgive you.”

 

“I know,” House whispers.

 

In exchange for Wilson’s forgiveness, his continued friendship – House has to do anything he asks. If Wilson wants to talk, House has to listen. If he’s angry, needs to vent, House provides his own body as the target for his rage.

 

When Wilson is missing Amber, longing for an intimate touch – or just a good lay – well… House has to provide that, too.

 

All the things he’s never given Wilson before, in all the years of their friendship, Wilson now requires of him – the price for the continuance of that friendship.

 

Wilson’s granted forgiveness – but only in exchange for House’s everything.

 

House never stops to wonder if the price is too high.


	69. #69 - Happiness

It takes months for House to recover from the loss of Wilson’s friendship – and during those months, he forms a new friendship.

 

Friendship gradually becomes more, as House learns to trust in the love of someone he once thought of as only his boss – his annoyingly involved, undeniably sexy boss.

 

Now – Cuddy is so much more to him.

 

He doesn’t think of Wilson that much anymore.

 

Amidst the rubble left by Amber’s death, House has finally found some measure of happiness.

 

It’s shattered completely one night, when he returns home to find her lying there, lifeless blue eyes staring up at the ceiling… soft, dark hair matted with blood.

 

Wilson stands over her, smiling at House as he enters – the literally smoking gun clutched in his hand.

 

“You took my chance at happiness,” Wilson declares softly as House falls to his knees beside her, desperately seeking any sign of life – and finding none. “Why should you get to be happy?”

 

House’s entire being is utterly consumed with shock and grief and horror at what’s happened – so the fact that he doesn’t see the end coming is hardly a mercy, as Wilson takes aim behind him… and fires the gun again.


	70. #70 - Layer of Dust

Wilson stares at the forgotten item on the closet shelf, memories filling his mind at the once-familiar sight.

 

House’s cane… covered in a thick layer of dust.

 

Wilson smiles at the memories of what once was – and pleasure at what now is.

 

House doesn’t need the cane anymore.

 

A simple spinal injection – the slightest “accidental” slip of Wilson’s hand – took care of that.

 

Wilson finds the tennis racket he sought, and closes the closet door, whistling cheerfully as he crosses the living room. He runs an affectionate hand through House’s hair as he reaches his wheelchair beside the sofa, his smile widening when House flinches, looking up at him through wide, fearful eyes.

 

“Relax.” Wilson winks. “I’m in a good mood today.”

 

He hums softly to himself as he fastens the restraints on the arms of House’s wheelchair around his wrists.

 

“Wilson,” House pleads, his voice hoarse with thirst and lack of use. “Please… you don’t have to…”

 

“Don’t be silly.” Wilson’s voice is still light, but there’s a warning edge that silences House’s cautious protests. “You remember what happened last time.”

 

House tries to pull away when he sees the gag in Wilson’s hand, but Wilson’s hand shoots out to seize his hair, jerking his head back painfully. Wilson’s voice is cold and soft as he crouches beside House.

 

“Careful,” he warns. “Wouldn’t want to have to hurt you.”

 

House surrenders, eyes closed as Wilson straps the gag in place, then turns on the television and places the remote control under House’s right hand.

 

“Just relax.” Wilson’s voice is patient and affectionate again. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

 

Despite the bonds, as Wilson walks out the door, House feels an overwhelming sense of relief. At least for the next few hours – he doesn’t have to be afraid.


	71. #71 - Guilty

The whole thing’s easier than Wilson expected.

 

He watches from the window as House discovers her body – laughs in triumph when House picks up the glass on the coffee table, immediately noticing the powder settled in the bottom. When he picks up the packet beside the glass, Wilson can hardly contain his satisfaction.

 

It’s almost too easy.

 

House’s fingerprints on the glass and packet of poison, his presence in Cuddy’s apartment when the authorities arrive, are more than enough for a conviction. When the police find the rest of the poison in House’s apartment – his fate is sealed.

 

Wilson doesn’t feel bad.

 

House didn’t hurt Cuddy… but he’s still guilty of murder.

 

And as for Cuddy… well, she shouldn’t have taken the side of the murderer over the side of the victim.

 

The first night House spends in prison, for the first time since Amber’s death… Wilson sleeps in peace.


	72. #72 - Cold

Sometimes Wilson’s eyes are cold.

 

House’s heart sinks, immediately knowing he’s done something wrong – and not just the usual kind of wrong he does every day, but wrong enough to drive the warmth and affection from Wilson’s gaze, and replace it with frigid indifference that places trembling dread in the pit of House’s stomach.

 

He knows Wilson won’t hurt him, won’t even fly into a rage, yell, lecture, tell House in a hundred different ways what’s wrong with him, what he needs to change.

 

He’ll simply ignore him.

 

All House can do is wait, longing for the warmth to return.


	73. #73 - In the Dark

House flips the switch on his living room wall as he walks into his apartment.

 

The room stays dark.

 

The hairs on the back of House’s neck stand up, an instant before a strong, soft hand slides around his throat, pulling him back against his assailant’s chest.

 

“Shhh,” he is warned in a low voice of black satin. “Do as you’re told… and I won’t hurt you…”

 

House replies with a smirk and a suggestive taunt. “What if I want you to hurt me?”

 

The tone in his attacker’s voice instantly changes to nervous and embarrassed. “Don’t! You’ll ruin it…”

 

House immediately relents, rolling his eyes. The mocking expression can’t be seen in the dark, anyway. His tone instantly changes to one that could almost be genuine fear.

 

“Okay… okay, please don’t… don’t hurt me…”

 

That dark, silken confidence is back in the hardened voice of the stranger behind him when he speaks again. “That’s better. Bedroom. Now. Don’t turn around, don’t look at me, and don’t you dare resist.”

 

“Okay… whatever you want… anything you say…” House gladly complies, feigning fear and submission.

 

He enjoys this particular game.

 

In the dark – Wilson can be whoever he wants to be.


	74. #75 - Walls

Wilson has a thing for walls.

 

House sometimes thinks it’s the reason he’s attracted to him. No one has thicker, stronger, more challenging walls than House.

 

It’s amazing how easily Wilson can get past them, though. Before House even realizes it’s happened, he’s whispering secret words in the middle of the night – confessions he never thought he’d share with anyone.

 

In the light of day, House worries what might happen if Wilson ever decides to betray his trust. He’s seen the victorious light in Wilson’s eyes, the thrill of power felt at being the only one privy to House’s secrets – the only one allowed behind his walls.

 

House knows too well what power can do to the best of intentions, and wishes he’d never handed over such power to the only one he’s ever wanted to trust. He vows to take back that power, and throughout the day, gradually puts the walls back up, piece by piece.

 

But that evening, just before leaving, Wilson pulls him into his office and kisses him fervently, pushing him back against the wall, and House is left breathless and longing – the remnants of his walls once again crumbled on the floor at Wilson’s feet.


	75. #75 - Walls

Wilson has a thing for walls.

 

House sometimes thinks it’s the reason he’s attracted to him. No one has thicker, stronger, more challenging walls than House.

 

It’s amazing how easily Wilson can get past them, though. Before House even realizes it’s happened, he’s whispering secret words in the middle of the night – confessions he never thought he’d share with anyone.

 

In the light of day, House worries what might happen if Wilson ever decides to betray his trust. He’s seen the victorious light in Wilson’s eyes, the thrill of power felt at being the only one privy to House’s secrets – the only one allowed behind his walls.

 

House knows too well what power can do to the best of intentions, and wishes he’d never handed over such power to the only one he’s ever wanted to trust. He vows to take back that power, and throughout the day, gradually puts the walls back up, piece by piece.

 

But that evening, just before leaving, Wilson pulls him into his office and kisses him fervently, pushing him back against the wall, and House is left breathless and longing – the remnants of his walls once again crumbled on the floor at Wilson’s feet.


End file.
